Secret No 24
by UpdatePenNameClick
Summary: Finnick has heard a lot of horrible things from the wine-stained lips of drunken plastic Capitol women, but this truly haunts him in his nightmares. And while he dreams, she still has no idea of where she really belongs.


**Prologue**

"Annie, please, not again," Finnick murmured desperately. "You know how it works. I'll be home early tomorrow morning. So early." His voice reached a low whisper. "By the time you wake up, I'll be there."

Annie Cresta's cries were so shrill, so potentially ear shattering. Each little sound she made took a turn at stabbing Finnick's heart. Even though he had mastered hiding his heart, Annie still managed to break through the walls in his chest.

She dug one of her small, dainty hands into Finnick's shoulder, and stared at him, piercing him. "I hate this." Finnick just gazed at her, taking in her long hair, falling down her back like smooth raven's feathers, her eyes, sad and round, seaweed colored. He opened his mouth, but it was too late to say anything. Annie was blinking, looking into a somewhere, a sometime beyond anything Finnick would ever be able to see. Suddenly the stabbing stopped, only to be replaced with something so much worse: memories. It hadn't been long enough for the memories to be numb. Finnick wondered if they ever would turn numb.

"Annie, honey," he whispered, careful not to startle her while she was still stuck in her reverie. "Annie, please, you need to go to bed. Tomorrow morning, I'll be laying next to you. I promise."

And Annie went to bed. She fell asleep almost immediately, crouching up into a small ball, miniscule in the large bed provided by the Capitol for their Victor's Village home. Finnick knew why she didn't want to sleep without him tonight. The nightmares, so real and horrible and cruel.

Finnick hurried to put on a warm leather jacket and boots lined with wool. He stepped outside. The sea breeze still sent shivers down his spine, penetrating all of the thick layers. He ambled down the road lined with monstrosities, houses that would comfortably fit five families. Finnick couldn't help being angry. If the sea breeze chilled him to the bone through his capitol-made jacket and boots, then how would the rest of District Four fare?

Still Finnick pulled his hood over his ears and continued his walk to the train station. District Four wasn't too far from the gleaming Capitol city, so he never had to leave his home- and Annie, he painfully reminded himself- too far in advance. President Snow hadn't approved, but really, what could he do? Finnick didn't want to go every other week to please plastic Capitol women. His time in the arena provided him with knowledge of the Capitol's Achilles heel. He knew how to hide. The President just wanted Finnick to do his job, to rake in money and support from the Capitol citizens. But Finnick didn't just rake in money.

Finnick himself got paid in something much more valuable than money. No, he got his compensation in secrets.

Secrets poured over silken sheets, into empty wine glasses. Drunken memories. Who would the victor tell? Of course, the beautiful District Four victor, the illustrious and seductive Finnick Odair? He would not tell a soul.

Tonight would be no different. Finnick would not give himself as he did to Annie, no, he could never do that. But he would give himself. For if Finnick Odair was anything, he was a brilliant actor.

He had to admit, he did find a bit of humor at the lives of these pathetic people. To think that he ever loved them. Oh, he did do a good job of making them think so. But he was already in love, and he would never leave Annie for a frivolous Capitol creature. He would never leave Annie, period.

Finally Finnick reached the train station. He was ushered into the plush train by the hands of some Capitol coordinator named Phrygia. She had morphed her features so intensely, Finnick couldn't tell what was real or not. He often played this game with himself. Pick out the real parts, pick out the fake. Extra points if you ask and get the real answers, even extra points if you were right.

Phrygia's hair at first looked as though it was just a tightly pulled ponytail, and it was. But upon further inspection, Finnick noticed the ponytail that was swinging in the back of her head kept changing colors as she moved, while the rest was a sickly green color. He continued to examine Phrygia, hoping that she, like many other Capitol citizens, had a theme about her, and soon realized that she did. Her skin was a light green and scale-y, and like the end of her hair, her hands and feet kept disappearing into her surroundings. She was an iguana. Finnick wouldn't normally know what that was; he learned it in the Training Center so many years ago.

Why is it that his time in the Training Center felt like yesterday when truly, it was a very long time ago?

"Would you like anything?" Phrygia asked in that irritating, trilling accent.

Finnick began to decline her offer, but thought better of it. "A hot chocolate, please," he said politely. Phrygia returned his words with a warm smile, too warm to be only just friendly. Finnick winced inwardly, which was something he learned to do after being disgusted countless times.

He attempted to make himself comfortable in his cabin, splashing his face with water to get that wonderful feeling of swimming. It didn't work. He took a shower instead, and realized that he did feel a bit better as the water pooled higher and higher around his legs.

The shower ended all too soon. Phrygia was knocking on the door.

Finnick no longer cared about modesty, so he opened the door to the sweet chocolate-y smell in only a towel wrapped loosely about his waist. After another warm smile from Phrygia, he sat on the edge of his bed, sipping the hot chocolate delicately, swallowing tiny drops at a time, and wondering how the hell he was still a part of their Games.

•••

They reached the Capitol fast. Finnick was relieved. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he would be with Annie.

"Now, we are running a bit late," Phrygia intoned. "But that dear Syra won't mind a bit. She has been waiting a rather long time, though, all things considered. She paid quite a sum-"

Finnick stopped listening. The train was slowing, and he preferred to look out the window than listen to Phrygia babble on about Finnick's employer for the night. The Capitol was the same as always, constantly changing, very predictable, and yet, everything that happened there was so unimaginable to Finnick.

Although it was very late, people were stumbling along, tripping over each other's eight inch fashion statements. It was rather the same thing as Phrygia and I walked down a mainly residential street: identical apartment buildings, flat screen televisions blaring white noise and bright lights through the windows. There were a few odd shops here and there. Nothing particularly exciting happened.

Phrygia stopped at the eleventh indistinguishable building, pushing the intercom button for apartment 34b. Finnick looked up, vaguely wondering how many floors there were.

"Hello?" A Capitol voice came out of the intercom, sounding a little drunken, but not too bad. Not yet. In order to get his payment, Finnick might have to break out a bottle of expensive champagne and casually switch his full with her empty every few minutes.

"Hello, is this Syra?"

"Yes, yes, of course, come in."

A second later there was a beep, and Finnick could hear the lock on the front door loosen. Phrygia began to push the door open, but Finnick halted her by placing his hand gently on her wrist. She looked up at him, her eyes as dark as the night sky.

"Please," said Finnick. "Don't trouble yourself. I'll find the way up easily. I know how to get back to the train station. I won't be long." Phrygia nodded absentmindedly, then moved to the side, leaving Finnick space to enter. Finnick smiled. "Thank you."

Finnick stepped in, dodging two young girls who were bounding out of the elevator excitedly, stepping in behind them. He pressed the round button reading 34, immediately igniting the light behind it. As the elevator sprang up, he rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes, and began to recite what he always did before performing Snow's dirty acts.

_This is not who you are. You are keeping Annie safe. There is no guilt, no regret. Don't forget to make her pay._

He repeated this again and again, willing himself to believe it all. But the elevator ride was too short. He stepped out, easily found the right apartment, and knocked gently. The door swung open quickly, revealing a very tall woman with red hair down to her ankles. In one hand she was holding a glass of white wine. She pulled him in. Obviously, she wasn't in the mood for talking. With one swift motion, he was laying in her bed while she poured him a glass as well. And so she began.

It was over fast enough, all things considered.

"You're so handsome Finnick."

Finnick didn't reply.

"So handsome."

Again, Finnick remained silent.

"Would you like something to drink?"

He nodded, putting his empty glass- the one that she had downed previously, he managed to not have anything to drink yet- onto the table beside him. Empty tears fell down his cheeks while Syra went off for another glass of foul-smelling white wine.

_This is not who you are. You are keeping Annie safe. There is no guilt, no regret. Don't forget to make her pay._

He quickly wiped the tears off of his cheeks. That's right, he thought. I still need my end of the payment.

Syra traipsed in, sliding to Finnick's side.

"Let's make a toast," said Finnick, winking at Syra. She blushed slightly underneath her blue-tinted skin. "Might I add that I love the color of your skin?" he drawled. "It reminds me of the ocean."

Syra giggled.

Finnick stared at her dreamily for a few moments, then shook his head as though he was distracted. "Where was I? Oh yes, a toast. Let's make a toast to us, my darling." He held his glass up in front of him, clinking it with hers, lingering a little longer than was totally necessary.

She began to drink, and she was generous with herself. Syra was already extremely intoxicated at this point, Finnick needn't even pretend to sip at his drink.

"My darling, you look upset," he lied. She definitely didn't look upset. She looked giddy. "Is something bothering you?"

"No, why Finnick, do I look upset?" she intoned. Luckily, she didn't wait for answer. "Well, I suppose."

Finnick smiled sadly. "Darling, you know that you can tell me anything. We have shared so much tonight."

"Today is my birthday."

"Happy birthday, my dear! Another toast to life!"

"No, no, not my birthday. Is that what I said? Oh goodness." Still, Syra gulped down more wine after yet another clink of the glasses.

"Then whose birthday is it, darling?"

"Wouldn't you like to know!" she cried. Oh no, thought Finnick, she's getting haughty.

"Of course I would like to know," he whispered. He inched closer to her, picking up her hand to leave a long kiss. "Tell me, won't you?"

Syra seemed to lose her head a bit at this point. She began to weep. Finnick's heart immediately stiffened. Was Annie crying like this? Was she having a nightmare? Oh, how Annie cried like this!

_This is not who you are. You are keeping Annie safe. There is no guilt, no regret. Don't forget to make her pay._

"Darling," he said, now revived from his quick moment. "Please, don't cry, you know how it kills me. Now, dear, tell me, I promise I will make you feel better. So much better."

She blinked. "Okay," said Syra, dazedly. "It is my daughter's birthday."

Finnick recoiled, but only slightly. He was expecting to hear that it was her husband's birthday. He was waiting for her to tell him about the guilt she has for doing this when it was her husband's birthday. Then he thought that she would proceed to tell him about her husband never being home because of his wonderful job at President Snow's mansion. Then maybe, this whole night would end normally with another story about Snow and his infamous poison.

But obviously, that wasn't the case.

"Finnick, don't hate me!" she whined.

Finnick mocked a gasp. "Never, my darling. Why does this make you upset?"

And so Finnick gained yet another secret.

It wasn't until an hour or two later that Syra finally drifted into a silent sleep. He stared at her enviously. How he wished he could sleep so peacefully. He snuck out then, leaving his usual mark, which was over twenty empty wine glasses.

He left the elevator and returned to the train. He took yet another shower, though this time he was able to sit in the flood of the water that filled the tub almost to the top. Exhaustion overcame him, and soon enough he was drifting into sleep. As usual, it wasn't restful.

First, he dreamt of Annie. It was an often recurrence to dream this scene of when Annie first came home from her own Hunger Games, senseless and screaming at something no one could quite catch. As he had seen it so many times, it passed quickly.

His dream changed with a flash, to a baby girl, almost a toddler, laying in a decrepit cardboard box, riding the cargo of a train rather like the one he was in at that moment: the baby girl, being deposited at the door of a young couple. Or maybe a large family that owned a stationary store. Either in some random district. The surprise at the baby girl's shock of long red hair.

It wasn't until later, when Finnick curled up next to Annie's small form, that he finally felt at rest.


End file.
